


Ali Can't Know!

by unevalentine



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unevalentine/pseuds/unevalentine
Summary: Jamshid finally gets the opportunity for some much-needed alone time with his new paramour, the charming Muntadhir. The only problem? How to keep it all a secret from Muntadhir's clueless little brother (and roommate), Alizayd.Enter: Jamshid's own little sister, Nahri, who has been reluctantly dragged in as an accomplice to the deception. Will she succeed? Or will Alizayd discover the true nature of his brother's relationship?Oh-ho, but the game is afoot!
Relationships: Hatset/Wajed, Jamshid e-Pramukh/Muntadhir al Qahtani, Nahri e-Nahid/Alizayd al Qahtani, Zaynab/Aqisa
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue

“ _Please_ , Nahri? Won’t you do this favor for your big brother? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Jamshid’s beseeching black eyes are comically large on his face as he stares, unblinking, at Nahri. She sighs and says, “I just don’t understand why I have to be there. Anyway, wouldn’t you rather be alone with your new boyfriend?”

“The thing is…he lives with _his_ little brother, who doesn’t know that we’re…together…so…” Jamshid trails off, fiddling awkwardly with the ends of his mustache.

“Why not?” Nahri asks.

Jamshid stares at the ground, frowning. “He’s very sheltered. And very religious. We don’t know how he would…take the news. So we thought it would be best to…wait, before telling him.” He suddenly looks up at Nahri, a bit sheepishly. “And that’s why we need you there, to make sure he’s occupied and doesn’t find out before we’re ready.”

Nahri’s expression softens, and she squeezes Jamshid’s hand. She knows how sensitive he can be about coming out to people. He hasn’t even been able to tell his own father the truth— _speaking of which_ —

“You know, if you moved out, you wouldn’t have to sneak around like this.”

Jamshid throws her a wounded look. “And _you_ know I can’t do that to Baba. He needs me. He can barely—”

“Alright.” Nahri cuts him off, unwilling to get into another argument over Jamshid’s overprotective father. “I’ll do it. But what, are you just going to pretend that you’re friends? Friends who have to be alone in a room together?”

At this, Jamshid smiles, an amused twinkle in his eyes.

“Muntadhir is a known connoisseur of wine. As his brother is such a devout man, we wouldn’t want to offend his delicate sensibilities.” Jamshid pauses for dramatic effect. “For the sake of our esteemed sheikh, we will be convening meetings of our two-person wine tasting club in the privacy of Muntadhir’s room.”

Nahri looks skeptical. “You think he’s going to buy that? And how regularly are you planning on having these _meetings_? I’m a busy person, you know. I’m about to start clinical rotations, and—”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be forever. Just until we’re ready. You know, you might even enjoy spending time with this Alizayd. Muntadhir says he loves to read. Maybe you could start a book club with him.”

Nahri rolls her eyes. “Yes, he sounds positively _delightful_.” She narrows her eyes at Jamshid. “You owe me, big time, for this.”

“Yes, little sis. I know.” Jamshid presses a kiss to the top of her head, making Nahri fight back a smile with an exaggerated sigh.

“Let’s go then. I cannot _wait_ to meet this wine connoisseur of yours.”

Jamshid gulps, suddenly nervous. “You’ll behave, won’t you?”

“I make no promises.” Nahri grins as she walks out the door.

Jamshid groans and lifts his eyes to the ceiling. “Creator, please let this not be a complete disaster.”

“Jamshid! Hurry up, or I’ll make sure your new boyfriend hears all about your _experiments_ with tamarind juice!”

Jamshid pales and hurries after Nahri, locking the door behind him. “You wouldn’t—”

***

(She would, Nahri informs him, rather cheekily, as the two siblings head to the Geziri quarter, where another pair of bickering siblings awaits.

Will this fateful meeting between the Nahids and Qahtanis be as disastrous as Jamshid fears? Tune in next time to find out!)


	2. Nahri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nahri meets the Qahtani brothers, and finds Alizayd to be more pleasant company than she expected.

When they get to the apartment building, a modest one in the heart of the old Geziri quarter, Nahri heads straight for the elevator. Jamshid suggests, kindly, that they take the stairs instead, since he knows Nahri has been neglecting the exercise regimen he so thoughtfully created for her, and honestly, as a future doctor, she needs to take better care of her health—

Jamshid and Nahri take the stairs.

By the time they enter the seventh floor hallway, where the Qahtani brothers live, Nahri is thoroughly out of breath. While she leans against the wall, trying to recover, Jamshid whispers, “Tell me what the plan is again.”

“Why are you whispering?” Nahri says at a normal volume. 

“Shhh! Don’t be so loud. You’re supposed to be helping us keep this a secret, remember?” Jamshid whispers heatedly.

Nahri rolls her eyes but finally whispers back, “Yes, I know, it’s not rocket science. I just have to keep this Alizayd distracted while you and your lover get it on. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Honestly, have you no faith in me?”

“This is very important to me, Nahri. Just promise me you’ll take this seriously?”

“I promise. Now can we stop whispering and get on with it?”

Jamshid straightens up and says, loudly, “Now, Nahri, don’t get mad just because you can’t walk up a few flights of stairs without getting winded. Maybe you should take this as an opportunity to improve your fitness.”

Without waiting for a response, Jamshid turns and continues walking down the hallway. Nahri shakes her head, bemused, as she follows him. _This new boyfriend is certainly bringing out his feisty side._

As Jamshid comes to a stop, throwing Nahri a meaningful look, he raises a fist to knock on the door. He calls out, “Muntadhir? It’s me, Jamshid. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought my sister, Nahri.”

The door swings open, and a velvety voice says, “No problem at all. Come in, come in. Please, make yourselves at home.”

Nahri steps into the apartment after Jamshid, curious to see the man behind the voice. An effortlessly handsome man in a well-tailored, expensive-looking suit turns to her with a brilliant smile.

“You must be Nahri. I’ve heard so much about you. But I fear Jamshid has done you a great disservice. He never warned me you would be so beautiful.” He glances behind her with a rakish grin, then presses a kiss to the back of her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Muntadhir al Qahtani.”

 _Is he…flirting with me?_ Nahri looks at Jamshid, raising her eyebrows in confusion. He doesn’t notice, too busy staring at Muntadhir with stars in his eyes. Muntadhir, still grinning at Jamshid, moves toward him without another glance in Nahri’s direction.

 _Great. Could they be any more obvious?_ Nahri sighs and follows them into the spacious sitting room, where a young man sits leaning against a cushion on the floor, engrossed in reading a sizable book.

Nahri gazes around the room, appraising its simple, comfortable furnishings. Red divans line the room, while a large bookshelf, crammed full of books, takes up the entire length of one wall. Nahri eyes the bookshelf in awe.

Muntadhir clears his throat, and the young man looks up, startled. With a patterned turban wrapped around his head, and a plain white thawb hanging loosely off his lean frame, he looks the very picture of a respected sheikh. His skin is dark, almost black, and his gray eyes seem to grow to twice their size when he notices the two strangers. He sits up hastily, dropping the book from his hands.

Muntadhir says, “Alizayd, this is my friend Jamshid. And this is his sister, Nahri.” Gesturing toward his brother, he says, chuckling, “Alizayd is the baby of the family, but I assure you, he knows more than any of us about any number of extremely interesting topics.”

Alizayd scowls and says, hotly, “For the last time, Dhiru, I am not a _baby_.” Then, remembering that they have guests, he colors, and inclines his head politely toward Jamshid and Nahri. He places a hand on his heart. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Muntadhir’s smirk only widens. He claps a hand on Jamshid’s shoulder, and steers him toward a half-open door on the far side of the room. “Now, Zaydi, for your own sake, don’t disturb us. I know how you feel about wine and other such _sins_. Why don’t you sit and chat with Nahri? I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.”

Muntadhir and Jamshid disappear into his room, closing the door firmly behind them. Alizayd turns to Nahri, looking confused. “You’re not joining them?”

“Err…no. I have no taste for wine myself.” Nahri drops down onto a nearby cushion, making sure to keep a good distance between them.

“Oh. So, then why did you come?”

Nahri stares at him in disbelief. “Is my presence _unwelcome_ here?”

Alizayd waves his hands in front of his face, looking terribly embarrassed. “N-no, that’s not what I meant! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate anything. I was merely wondering why you chose to accompany your brother here.” After a moment of awkward silence, he adds, hastily, “Of course, you are most welcome.”

“Thank you,” Nahri says drily. “I rarely come to the Geziri quarter. I thought it would be a nice opportunity to visit.”

Alizayd relaxes at that. She can’t help but notice that he looks much more attractive with a smile on his slender face.

“Where do you live, then?”

“In the old Daeva quarter. I used to live with Jamshid and his father, but I moved out a while ago. I didn’t go far, though. It gives Jamshid peace of mind to know that I’m still close by.”

Alizayd cocks his head as if trying to puzzle out a mystery. “You and Jamshid have different fathers?” He scans her face. “You know, you don’t really look like your brother. Except in the eyes.”

Nahri gives Alizayd the same searching look. “And you don’t look like _your_ brother. Except in the eyes.”

Alizayd shrugs. “I get that a lot. We’re actually half-brothers. Abba married my mother after his first wife died. Actually, I look much more like my sister Zaynab.”

“There’s three of you, then?”

“Yes, I’m the youngest.”

“Muntadhir did say you’re the baby of the family.” Alizayd looks deeply offended, his mouth dropping open in dismay. Before he can respond, Nahri laughs. “Don’t be so serious. It’s not an insult. I’m the youngest too.”

Looking slightly mollified, Alizayd asks, “Is it just you and Jamshid?”

“As far as we know. But it’s hard to say. I didn’t even know I had a brother until—” Nahri breaks off, unsure why she is spilling her entire life story to a complete stranger. She eyes him, but he only blinks at her innocently.

“Until?”

Nahri continues, haltingly, “Until Jamshid showed up on my eighteenth birthday with my birth certificate and a bunch of documents he found hidden in his father’s house. According to the documents, we had the same mother. But none of them explained how I ended up in an orphanage in Cairo, or who my father was, or even where our mother was…”

Alizayd’s face lights up. “You’re from Cairo?”

_That’s what he got out of that story? Creator, this man is so strange._

“Yes, I grew up there. I only came to Daevabad after Jamshid convinced me to move here, so I could get to know my new…family.”

Even after so many years, it’s still strange to think of herself as being part of a family. The closest thing to family Nahri had had growing up was the director of the orphanage, a kindly old man named Yaqub. A stab of guilt lances through her at the thought of Yaqub, whose last letter still sits unanswered on her desk, beneath piles of notes and books and unopened mail.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Cairo,” Alizayd says softly. “I’ve read so much about it.”

“Then why don’t you go?”

“My mother is very overprotective. She wanted me to stay here for college, but I went to Am Gezira instead. I practically had to flee in the night. It took her a long time to forgive me after that.” Alizayd shakes his head, ruefully.

“It must be nice, to have parents who care so much.” Nahri is surprised at the longing evident in her own voice. _What is going on here? Why am I being so emotional?_

“Yes, well…” Alizayd winces. “I haven’t always been the most obedient child.”

Deciding to change the subject, Nahri studies him again. His long fingers drum nervously on his crossed knees. She takes a closer look at the book he had dropped, and reads the title aloud.

“The Midan and the Six Tribes: A History of Daevabad’s Markets.” Nahri glances up at Alizayd, who looks even more apprehensive than before. “Are you an economist, then?”

“Sort of. I’m doing a PhD.” Nahri waits for him to elaborate, but he hesitates. “It’s complicated—like a mix of history, economics, and public policy.” He smiles bashfully. “I have a lot of interests.”

Nahri hides a smile. “I can tell.”

“How about you?” Alizayd asks, perking up again.

“I’m in med school, at the University of Daevabad.”

“Me too! I mean, I’m doing my PhD there.”

Nahri and Alizayd smile at each other. For some reason, Nahri is pleased at the thought that she might actually run into this odd person on campus—though, come to think of it, she’s never seen him around before.

“Are you on campus often?” she asks.

“Yes, I spend a lot of time in the Royal Library. It’s one of my favorite places to work.”

“I often work there too! But we must go there at different times. I’m sure I would have remembered you if our paths ever crossed.” Nahri looks him over again. Yes, she would definitely have remembered him.

Alizayd, looking embarrassed by her scrutiny, lowers his eyes to the ground.

“I like to go in the mornings. That’s when it’s most quiet, and I can concentrate better.”

Nahri says, “That explains it. I go whenever I get the chance, but I’m usually busiest in the mornings.”

“I see.” Alizayd nods. “So, when are you usually free?”

Nahri raises an eyebrow, letting her lips quirk up in a wry smile. “Why are you so interested?”

“O-oh, no—not that—I didn’t mean—I was just—” Alizayd stammers, mortified.

Nahri laughs. “I’m about to start clinical rotations, so I’m not sure what my schedule will be like. It will change depending on the rotation.”

Curiosity shines in Alizayd’s large gray eyes. “What’s it like, being in med school? Have you always wanted to be a doctor?”

“Honestly, yes. Ever since I was little, I wanted to be a doctor.” Nahri smiles as she remembers how earnestly she declared to Yaqub that she was going to be the first woman doctor in history—not knowing how many women already held that title.

“At the orphanage, it was just a dream, but Jamshid…he actually made it happen.” Nahri pauses, then continues softly, “I owe it all to him.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. He may have helped you, but that’s what family is supposed to do. If you got into med school, it was on your own merits.”

Alizayd smiles warmly at her, and Nahri flushes at the sincere look of admiration in his eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “Creator knows I’ve worked hard for it.”

Suddenly, Alizayd exclaims, “Where are my manners? I am so sorry, I completely forgot to offer you a drink. Do you want some coffee? Tea?”

He springs to his feet and hurries to the kitchen. Nahri follows him, saying, “Tea would be nice, but there’s no rush.”

Alizayd rummages through a cupboard, easily reaching the top shelf with his long arms. Nahri is surprised, though she’s not sure why. _He’s very…tall._

Finally, Alizayd emerges with a box of tea bags that had been shoved into the back of the cupboard. “It’s…” He checks the label. “…hibiscus tea. Is that alright?”

Nahri laughs. “I love hibiscus tea. In Egypt, we have a drink called karkade. It’s basically just iced hibiscus tea. Though we would use dried flowers instead of tea bags.”

“I’m sorry, this is all we have.” Alizayd looks at her apologetically. “I can go out to get some dried flowers if you prefer.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Nahri takes the box from him and removes a few tea bags. She raises an eyebrow at Alizayd. “Do you have two cups we can use?”

Alizayd hurries to procure two cups, as well as the other items Nahri asks for—a kettle, sugar, and ice cubes. Working together, they boil the water, steep the tea bags—two each for double potency—then add the sugar and ice cubes.

Nahri takes a sip of the chilled beverage, savoring the sweetened tang. “I’ve missed this. Food in Daevabad just can’t compare.”

“Do you ever want to go back? To Cairo?” Alizayd asks.

Nahri frowns. “I don’t know. It would be nice to see Yaqub again—he was the director of the orphanage where I grew up. And it _was_ my home for so long.” She pauses to think. “Yes, I would like to go back—but not to stay. Here, I have my studies, I have my brother, I have my friends. There’s nothing like that for me in Cairo.”

“If I ever go, would you be my tour guide?” Alizayd asks, hopefully.

“We literally just met, and you already want to go on a trip together?” Nahri laughs, while Alizayd colors again. _He’s much too fun to tease._ “If you hire me, sure. But I warn you, my services don’t come cheap.”

Alizayd laughs and bows with a flourish. “I look forward to being fleeced by you, as long as you promise to take me to the famous bazaar, Khan el-Khalili. It sounds marvelous.”

Nahri can’t help but smile at the sight of him, beaming with excitement.

“Sure. I’ll take you to Khan el-Khalili. Though it’s not that different from Daevabad’s Grand Bazaar.”

Alizayd looks shocked. “Not that _different_? How can you say that? Why, the history alone is fascinating. There are rumors that you can still stumble upon the bones of Fatimid caliphs in lesser-trafficked areas of the souq.”

“And… _why_ would you want to do that?” Nahri asks.

Alizayd grins sheepishly. “It’s not that I want to,” he begins, “but the idea that you could. That’s all I meant.” At Nahri’s skeptical look, he wilts a little, and decides, wisely, to stop talking.

Nahri and Alizayd sip their tea in silence. As Nahri looks up at him— _he’s so tall_ —she thinks that perhaps Jamshid was right, after all. She has enjoyed spending time with this strange, awkward man. She vows never to let either of them know just how much.

***

(Oh, Nahri. You have no idea, do you? I wish I could clue you in, but…then there wouldn’t be a story, would there? You’ll see. Eventually. 

That’s all for now, folks! Until next time!)


	3. Muntadhir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muntadhir reflects on his relationship with Jamshid.

Lying next to Jamshid, Muntadhir studies his face, half illuminated by dappled moonlight. He can be objective—Jamshid is no great beauty. Not even in the top 10 of all the people Muntadhir has bedded and fled—maybe not even in the top 20.

_But none of them can hold a candle to you, my love. They were just bodies I used._

Muntadhir feels a pang of regret at all the years he wasted, numbing the pain of his father’s expectations with fleeting, meaningless sex. How sad, when he could have had this all along—this feeling of comfort and rightness, safety and contentment. His relationship with Jamshid isn’t as fiery or explosive as his other trysts were. There’s no drama and no illusions between them.

He’s just…happy. And he knows Jamshid is happy too. That man is an open book. The love shining in Jamshid’s eyes every time he looks at him makes Muntadhir feel a sense of endless possibility—like he would do anything to be worthy of that love. Now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t imagine ever letting it go.

Of course, things won’t be that easy. What he has with Jamshid is too precious and fragile to expose to the cruelty of the world. Muntadhir still hasn’t told his family about Jamshid, not even Zaynab—though surely she, of all people, would understand. She hasn’t been quite forthcoming about her own secret romance, for good reason. What would Ali say if he knew about his sister and his best friend? And what would Ali say if he knew the truth behind Muntadhir’s wine tasting club?

Muntadhir pushes the disquieting thoughts from his mind. Now is not the time to fuss over things to come. Right now, Muntadhir is with Jamshid, and he is in love. He savors the words in his mouth, not daring to say them out loud. Not yet. Not in the quiet darkness, with Jamshid sleeping so peacefully at his side. 

They have the whole weekend together, in a place where no one knows them, and he plans to make full use of this time. Muntadhir relishes the warmth of Jamshid’s hand in his own. He presses a feather-light kiss to Jamshid’s brow and loops an arm around him, holding him close.

_We have all the time in the world. Isn’t that right, my love? All the time in the world._


	4. Ali

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ali gets a surprise visitor, he and Nahri talk about loves lost and lessons learned.

Ali and Nahri sit in companionable silence, each reading a different book. Faint strains of music sift into the sitting room. Ali recognizes the song from a classical oud album he’d gifted his brother many years ago. _I didn’t know he even listened to it._ He smiles and gazes curiously at the closed door to Muntadhir’s room.

_How much wine can two people possibly drink? And why do they have to be so secretive about it?_

Suddenly, Nahri sighs and sets her book down. 

“What’s wrong?” Ali asks.

“I can’t concentrate. I should be studying or catching up on sleep or doing _something_ useful with my day off. Instead, I’m reading…” Nahri picks up the book and shows him the cover. “… _Crocodile on the Sandbank_.” She sighs again.

“Is that set in Egypt?”

“Yes,” Nahri laughs. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Ali responds. “You seem to miss your old home. If reading about it gives you comfort, you shouldn’t feel guilty. No matter how busy you are, there’s always time to find solace, wherever you can.”

Nahri appraises Ali with a quizzical look. “Is that a quote from something?”

“I’m not sure.” Ali shrugs. “Probably. I read a lot.”

“Since you’re so well-read, you won’t mind recommending me another book. I’m in the mood for something more…I don’t know, just something _more_. If that makes sense.”

Ali’s eyes light up with excitement. “Let’s start a book club! Our brothers have their wine tasting club—why shouldn’t we have a club of our own?”

After a few moments of awkward silence, with Nahri avoiding his gaze, Ali deflates. “Or not…it was just an idea.” _Great job, Alizayd. You’ve done it again. You still haven’t learned how to read a room._

“No, it’s…it’s a good idea.” Nahri finally looks at him, and to Ali’s relief, she appears rather amused. “What book should we start with?”

Ali rubs at his beard, thinking. “Let’s each come up with three options—no restrictions. Then we’ll each rank all the books in order from most preferred to least preferred. After eliminating the ones at the bottom of our respective lists, we’ll work our way through the rest, starting from the top. How does that sound?”

“Like you just put entirely too much thought into organizing a book club,” Nahri says. _But she’s smiling, so that’s good…right?_

Before Ali can respond, a key turns in a lock. Two heads swivel in unison towards the front door of the apartment. Ali’s mouth drops open, before stretching into a wide, joyful grin.

“Lubayd?!”

Ali rushes to the door to embrace his friend. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be in Am Gezira?”

“Aww, did you miss me, brother? I decided to pop by for a visit!” Lubayd wraps an arm around Ali’s shoulders. “Now, when did you get so tall? Is our little Alu Baba all grown up?”

Ali groans. “I’ve been exactly this tall for years, _Lulu_.”

“I hate when you call me that,” Lubayd deadpans.

“You love it.” Ali grabs Lubayd’s bags and brings them into the apartment. “How long are you staying? What happened to the tour?”

Lubayd follows Ali inside. “You won’t believe it. I got booked in Agnivansha. Can you believe it? Agni-freakin’-vansha! I tell you—”

Lubayd stops in his tracks at the sight of Nahri, sipping karkade as she lounges comfortably on a divan. He looks from Ali to Nahri and back.

“Sorry. Am I…interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Ali reassures him. “Not at all.” He takes a few steps toward his brother’s room. “Oh, I should tell Dhiru you’re back. He’ll probably—”

“Ali, don’t be rude.” Quick as a flash, Nahri suddenly appears at his side, linking their arms together—rather firmly, Ali can’t help but notice. “You haven’t even introduced us yet.”

“Oh, forgive me.” Ali colors. “Nahri, this is Lubayd, my best friend and roommate. Lubayd, this is Nahri. She’s been coming by with her brother to visit us. Apparently he and Dhiru have some kind of…wine tasting club? It’s very strange, I have to say—”

“Isn’t Muntadhir your roommate?” Nahri asks, squeezing Ali’s arm. She widens her eyes at him, to alarming effect. Ali can feel his cheeks begin to heat at the sight of her face, so close to his.

“He’s temporary,” Lubayd cuts in. “I’m the real roommate. But I’ve been on tour, so I graciously let the _emir_ stay here. For now. Make no mistake—I fully expect to return when my tour is over.” He turns to Ali. “Isn’t that right, brother?”

“Well…about that…”

Lubayd turns to Nahri, ignoring Ali. “I’m so glad Ali is making new…” He looks the pair over, lingering on their linked arms. “…friends. I’ve been worried sick about him, alone in Daevabad, with no one but his family to listen to all his ramblings about who-knows-what this-and-that.”

Ali rolls his eyes, but no one pays him any mind.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I think my dear friend would make the acquaintance of such a lovely creature as yourself.” Lubayd crosses the room to sprawl on one of the divans. “Please, do go on. You said there was a wine tasting club?”

“No, _I_ said that—” This time, Ali interrupts himself. Spotting something on the floor, he detaches Nahri’s arm from his, then bends down to pick up a white envelope.

_To Ali. From Bushra._

Lubayd pales at the sight of the envelope in Ali’s hands. He frantically pats the pockets of his jacket. Finding nothing, he grimaces apologetically. “Shit. I…I was going to give that to you later.”

Ali stares at the envelope, his hands beginning to shake. Finally, he asks, “Where did you get this?”

“She…came up to me after one of my shows in Bir Nabat. We got to talking, and…she wrote you a letter. There it is.” Lubayd sighs. “Sorry, brother. I didn’t mean to drop it on you like this.”

Nahri shuffles awkwardly toward the door. “Right. I’m just…going to go down for a smoke. I’ll be back later. Much later.”

Ali barely manages to nod in her direction, before he returns to staring at the envelope in his hand. _Why now? What can she possibly have to say to me now? It’s been years. I have a new life. A good one._

“You don’t have to open it right away,” Lubayd says softly, sounding unusually serious.

Ali shakes his head. “You know I do.” He carefully opens the envelope, making sure not to tear it. Then he takes out the letter— _her handwriting hasn’t changed one bit_ —and begins to read.

***

_Dear Ali,_

_I’m sorry. I probably don’t have any right to call you that. Not after what I did. But calling you Alizayd doesn’t feel right either—it’s too formal. Forgive me, if you can. For all of it. I know nothing can make things right between us. I’m so sorry for hurting you. I never meant to. I was just confused. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I didn’t want to be stuck in a life that wasn’t…mine._

_You know how pushy my mom was. You know how much I struggled to make my own decisions. I always ended up doing whatever she wanted me to do. And she wanted me to marry you. I was never sure if I actually wanted the life that she had planned out for me, or if I was following that path because I didn’t know what else to do. I was feeling so trapped. I lived my whole life for someone else. First my mom. Then you. I had to get away from it all, and figure out who I was, what I wanted—just me, Bushra, on my own._

_I’m sorry, Ali. You didn’t deserve it. You were always good to me, and I know you would have tried to make me happy. Maybe, in a different world, we could have grown up together, instead of apart. Lubayd says you’ve become an even better man than you used to be. I’m proud of you. But…even though I regret hurting you, I don’t regret trying to find something for myself. I hope you’ve been able to find something for yourself too._

_I hope you can forgive me. I know you’re going to make someone very lucky one day. It couldn’t be me, not the way it was—but believe me, Ali, it all turned out for the best. For both of us. You deserve to be someone’s first, and only, choice. Whoever she is, she’s out there—and if you were married to me, you wouldn’t even get the chance to meet her._

_Please take care of yourself. I was very happy to hear that you and Lubayd are still so close. You have so many people who love you. I know you’re going to do amazing things in this world. I will always be rooting for you._

_May God light your way—_

_Bushra_

***

As Ali steps out of the building, he takes a deep breath of fresh Daevabadi air—and gets a lungful of smoke. Coughing, he spots Nahri, smoking a cigarette as she leans against the wall.

Still coughing, Ali asks, “So, Doctor, tell me—when did smoking become a healthy habit?” 

Nahri glances at Ali, then blows out a dark cloud. Her lips quirk up.

“Didn’t you know? Doctors are the biggest hypocrites in the world. We tell everyone else what to do, but we don’t take our own advice.”

Ali nods and slouches on the wall next to Nahri. She takes the cigarette out of her mouth to examine it with a cool gaze. “I don’t smoke much anymore. But I always keep a pack on me. Just in case.”

Nahri takes another drag, looking straight ahead at the people walking past them on the street. Ali stays silent, waiting.

“Not long after I moved here, I met a man named Dara. I was young, new to the city, new to having a family…new to everything, really. He was much older. He was so mysterious and passionate and…he wanted me. For some reason. Wherever we went, all the girls would glare daggers at me. I knew they were wondering why someone like him was with someone like me. I wasn’t used to any kind of attention, much less from a heartbreaker like Dara. I loved it.” She glances at Ali as she takes another drag.

“Don’t judge me, please. I know I sound incredibly vain right now.”

“I don’t think you sound vain,” Ali says. “And I’m not judging you. I’m listening.”

Nahri bites back a smile. “Thanks.” She takes one last drag and stamps out her cigarette on the sidewalk.

“Anyway, it was all such a cliché. The bad boy biker covered in tattoos, strutting around the city wearing nothing but leather. I used to think it was romantic that he would start fights to defend my honor—that’s what he always said. He was _defending my honor_. No matter how much I told him I didn’t need him to save me, he wouldn’t listen. No, I think I was like…an idea to him. He had all these _ideas_ of how the world should work, how he should do things—and I was just there as some kind of prop. I don’t know if he ever really saw me for who I was.”

Nahri shrugs. “And honestly, that was okay, for a while. He was unfairly hot, and I was still figuring out who I was myself. How could I expect him to know?” Nahri gives Ali a brittle smile.

“But then I grew up. I started to see just different we really were. And I was changing, _a lot_ , but he either couldn’t, or wouldn’t, change with me. He would make all these decisions for me without even asking me, just assuming he knew what I wanted. But he didn’t.”

Nahri takes a deep breath, tipping her head up to look at the sky. 

“He had this vision of our future that didn’t feel real. It was _his_ dream, and there was no room in it for _my_ dreams. He just took it for granted that we would stay together, exactly the same, forever. He couldn’t accept that that’s not what I wanted.” Nahri takes another deep breath, as if centering herself.

“It got really messy at the end. Then he took off on some bike tour of the six nations, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

Ali looks at the sky too, digesting the story. After a long silence, Nahri sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that. The whole point was _supposed_ to be that I picked up smoking from my ex. The rest of it just kind of…spilled out on the way.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ali says, before chuckling to himself. “Speaking of exes...”

“Ahh,” Nahri nods. “The one who wrote you a letter?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Bushra. I guess you could say we were…college sweethearts. We were meant to get married after graduation.”

Nahri glances, wide-eyed, at Ali. He nods wryly.

“I know. Don’t worry, it didn’t happen. Instead of showing up to the wedding, she packed her bags and headed to Tukharistan, without bothering to tell me until she arrived. I was so humiliated.” Ali shakes his head.

“Apparently, Bushra felt trapped by the marriage. Her mom was pushing it on both of us—she’s the type of woman who’s used to getting what she wants.” Ali lets out a short barking laugh. “Bushra and I actually bonded over having such controlling parents. That’s why I went to Am Gezira in the first place. I wanted to get away from my family and find out who I could be, without the pressure of their expectations. Bushra never got that chance.” Ali huffs out a strange little smile.

“Well, until she ran away and left me to deal with the whole mess of our wedding on my own.” He looks at Nahri, beseechingly. “I just thought…that’s what was supposed to happen. You meet someone, you get married, you start a family. I never meant to make her feel trapped. I never wanted to control her. I hope I didn’t do to Bushra what Dara did to you.” Ali frowns, pulling at his beard.

“Ali…” Nahri catches his wrist. “My story isn’t yours. It doesn’t mean you were like Dara at all. Please don’t read too much into it. For what it’s worth, it sounds like Bushra’s problem was more with her mom than with you.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“You know…” Nahri releases Ali’s wrist. “…I grew up alone, and all I ever wanted was a family, to find out who I really was. You grew up with a family, and all you wanted was to get away from them, to find out who _you_ really were. It’s like we took opposite paths to get to the same place.” She meets Ali’s gaze. “But here we are.”

“Here we are.”

Ali and Nahri look at each other with faint matching smiles on their faces. Something new and fragile and not ready to be named hangs in the air between them.Ali thinks of Bushra’s letter: _I hope you’ve been able to find something for yourself too._

_I’m trying...I’m trying._

***

(Lubayd here: Just want to say that I definitely meant to drop that letter when I did. It wasn’t a mistake, but a glorious, intentional move—that totally WORKED! Hell yeah. I’m the master.

What worked, you ask? Well, that’s a great question. You’ll have to tune in next time to see. Ehehehehe!)


	5. Jamshid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nahids and Qahtanis attend Lubayd's standup comedy show, where he tells an embarrassing story about Ali. Later, Jamshid discovers an explosive secret!

“So you know those people who are, like, good at _everything_ …?” Lubayd pauses and looks around the room with a deadpan expression, as if to insinuate: _Those fuckers_. The crowd bursts into laughter.

“Through careful observation over the years, I’ve come to conclude that yes, those people _are_ good at everything…” Lubayd tilts his head and puts up a finger. “…except one thing. There’s always just _one_ …” He brings his thumb and index finger close together, almost touching. “…one little thing they’re terrible at.”

Lubayd grins suddenly. “You see, I have this friend named Ali. We went to college together, he’s wonderful, I love him dearly. And—ladies, he lives right here in Daevabad. He’s single, and believe me, he’s the greatest guy you’ll ever meet. Come find me after the show, and we’ll set something up. That is not a joke—I mean it.”

A groan comes from across the table. Alizayd puts his head in his hands, muttering, “Why? Why me? Why?”

At Jamshid’s side, Muntadhir snickers. The mischievous look he gives Jamshid sends a thrill up his spine. _Creator help me. I am so far gone on this man._ Jamshid forces his attention back to the stage.

“…it’s truly shocking how clueless such a smart man can be. One night—this was back when we first met—we were walking down Hamdan Street in Bir Nabat—which is, shall we say, rather famous for its… _delights of the night_.” Lubayd wiggles his eyebrows.

“Now, like many other streets in the world, this street has its regulars. One of them always stands on the corner holding some books. She calls out to men as they pass, and offers to show them her private book collection. And by private book collection, of course, she means her private…” Lubayd makes a series of increasingly lewd gestures with his hands, eliciting more and more laughter the longer it goes on. “…well. You get the gist. You’re a sophisticated crowd.”

Then he cups a hand around the microphone, whispering, “My friend Ali was…not as astute.” Lubayd straightens up and continues at a normal volume: “You see, he’s an avid reader and very much enjoys perusing…well, private book collections.” The crowd laughs even harder as Lubayd half-heartedly repeats the same series of gestures with a roguish look on his face.

“I joke, I joke. He really does love reading. But back then, we’d only just met, and I didn’t know him that well. So—imagine my surprise when our esteemed lady of the night calls to him, and he actually _stops_! He did _not_ strike me as the type. I mean, the first time we met, he quoted a verse from the Quran.” Alizayd thumps his head on the table, while everyone else at their table laughs. Zaynab, sitting next to him, pats him a few times on the back.

“But I’m the kind of guy who goes with the flow. So, alright—why not?” Lubayd begins to stride back and forth across the stage, speaking faster and faster. “We go with the lady to her hotel room. We get to the room. Ali looks around, he’s confused. ‘Where are the books?’ he asks. The lady looks at me. I just shrug. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. She says something about how the books are ‘right here,’ and she rubs her body all seductively…” Lubayd demonstrates, to much laughter.

“Ali’s even more confused. The lady goes over to him and takes his hand. She’s moving his hand.” Lubayd’s hand moves slowly toward his chest. “Ali’s jaw drops—literally drops. Like, oh my God. I can see his brain short-circuiting right in front of me. He has no idea what to do. He’s never even touched a girl before! He’s completely frozen. And _then_ —” Lubayd’s hand lands on his chest and squeezes. “Ali just explodes into a million pieces!” He imitates the sound of an explosion.

Lubayd starts running frantically back and forth, with his hand on his chest, yelling: “He’s _gone_! He’s transcended to another plane! His soul has left his body in sheer shock and embarrassment and fear and whatever else a sheltered teenage boy might feel with his hand attached to a lady’s breast. Galaxies are colliding, the heavens are screaming, and Ali’s hand is still _right_ there, frozen, locked in place, like this rigid claw of _sin_ —”

Lubayd suddenly stops, dropping his hand. He looks around the room again, as the crowd roars with laughter. Then he smirks, returning to a conversational tone of voice. “Anyway, like I said. Great guy—but totally clueless. There’s always one thing. One little thing.” Lubayd makes the same thumb and index finger gesture, then waves to the crowd.

“Thank you, Daevabad! You’ve been amazing tonight. I’ll be back same time next week.” Lubayd grabs his water bottle and hops off the stage, to enthusiastic applause.

Alizayd has slid so low in his seat, his face is barely visible. He looks beyond mortified. Nahri, Muntadhir, Zaynab, and Zaynab’s friend—girlfriend?—all howl with laughter, while the older man sitting next to Alizayd’s mother chuckles to himself.

Alizayd’s mother—Hatset—is the only one who doesn’t seem to find the story amusing. “Do you see, Alizayd, why I didn’t want you to go to college so far away? You were too young to be getting corrupted out there!”

Alizayd makes a strangled sound, and sinks even lower in his seat.

Zaynab composes herself enough to say, “Oh, Amma, stop it. Ali hasn’t been corrupted. He’s still perfectly innocent—isn’t that right, akhi?” She pinches his cheek and chortles with obvious glee.

“What was wrong with staying here for college?” Hatset continues. “You could have lived at home, and I would never have let you be taken in by some… _harlot_.” Hatset sounds deeply offended. “But no, you never do listen to your mother. You should be ashamed of all the wrinkles you’ve given me over the years, worrying about you. Do you think it was easy to push that enormous potato head out of me? Do you know how much I’ve had to sacrifice—”

The older man suddenly takes hold of Hatset’s elbow. “Hatset, why don’t we go get your purse? You forgot it in the car, remember?”

Hatset glares at him. He flinches a little but holds his ground. “Fine. Let’s go, Wajed.” They stand up, and Hatset turns to Alizayd. “We will continue this conversation later, Alizayd. Do not think I will forget.”

She sweeps out of the room in a dignified huff. The older man—Wajed—claps Alizayd on the shoulder, before following her. The rest of them are still laughing, save for Alizayd, who looks like he might actually die of humiliation.

Jamshid leans over to tell Muntadhir, “I’ll be right back.” Muntadhir waves him off, clutching his stomach as he wipes a tear from his eye.

***

On the way to the bathroom, Jamshid smiles to himself. _What a ridiculous story. I can’t believe that happened to Alizayd, of all people. Maybe he’s not as sheltered as we thought._

He does his business. As he washes his hands, Jamshid stares at himself in the mirror. He turns his face from side to side, examining his face from different angles. Heknows he’s not Muntadhir’s usual type—if unfairly gorgeous counts as a type.It’s not that he’s bad-looking. His looks are at least above average. _But Muntadhir is not above average, is he? He’s the most beautiful man I know. And not just because I love him—because he’s really that beautiful._

Jamshid frowns and rubs a hand over his mustache. _I wonder if he likes my mustache. I should ask him._ Jamshid hates the look of his bare upper lip. After he shaved it once, for an ex—who, it turns out, was cheating on him the whole time—he decided he would never again change his appearance for anyone else. _Well, I’m not going to make any decisions right away. I just want to get his opinion. That’s all._

He exits the bathroom just in time to see a couple exchanging a sweet kiss. The door closes behind him, and they glance in his direction, suddenly freezing in place. A few seconds pass before Jamshid realizes who they are—Hatset and…Wajed?!

His jaw drops. They stare at each other in stunned silence. 

“He’s…He’s not your husband,” Jamshid stammers.

Hatset draws herself up to her full, formidable height. She spears Jamshid with the iciest glare he’s ever seen.

“No, he is not. And you will keep this to yourself.”

“You can’t be serious.” Jamshid narrows his eyes in disbelief. “There is no way in hell I’m not telling Muntadhir about this. You’re his stepmother!”

“The situation is complicated. You don’t understand all the nuances, and I won’t explain myself to a child.”

“This _child_ is perfectly capable of understanding that you shouldn’t be kissing anyone who’s not your husband. And this _child_ is going to tell Muntadhir, whether you like it or not.” Jamshid shakes his head and turns to walk away.

“I didn’t know it was so difficult to keep a secret from a _friend_. You and Muntadhir are… _friends_ , yes?” The suggestion in Hatset’s voice stops him in his tracks. He turns back to face them.

“Yes,” he begins warily, “but we’re very close. Why _should_ I keep this secret for you? Give me one good reason.”

Hatset smiles. “Alright. I know about your little wine tasting club.” She lets the words sink in. “You keep my secret, and I’ll keep yours. How’s that for a good reason?”

Jamshid scowls at her. _How does she know?_ Second after excruciating second ticks by. Wajed, standing awkwardly at Hatset’s side, clears his throat.

Finally, Jamshid says, “Fine. But at least tell me what’s so _complicated_. I would feel much better if I knew the whole story.”

Hatset and Wajed exchange a loaded glance. When he nods at her, she turns back to Jamshid.

“My husband is a difficult man, as I’m sure you’re aware. He was always working, never around. I had to take care of my children, and Wajed…well, he was more of a father to them than Ghassan ever was. I don’t know what we would have done without him. We didn’t mean for it to happen, but…we spent so much time together that…we fell in love.” Hatset and Wajed smile at each other, and her face softens.

“I told my husband I wanted a divorce. He just laughed and said that wasn’t going to happen. He said we couldn’t be selfish—we had to do what was best for our children.” Hatset falters a little, and Wajed reaches out to squeeze her hand, bolstering her. “But I was _so_ miserable. I wanted out.”

She sighs. “Ghassan suggested a compromise. We would stay married in name, but both of us could pursue whatever relationships we wanted outside the marriage. He knows about me and Wajed, and he’s fine with it.” Hatset shrugs. “It’s an unusual arrangement, but it works for us. There’s no reason for the children to know. It would be hard for them to understand.”

Jamshid doesn’t know what to say. _What kind of dysfunctional family does Muntadhir belong to? If I didn’t love him so much…_

After another long silence, Hatset asks, “Do we have an agreement then?”

Jamshid nods. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

“Good.” Hatset gestures to the stairs. “You should get back.”

Jamshid walks away, wishing very fervently that he had waited a little bit longer to leave the bathroom—or better yet, that he had not gone to the bathroom at all.

_Creator, why do things like this always happen to me?_

_***_

(The plot thickens. The secrets pile up. Ali can’t know!

Or can he?)


	6. Zaynab

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaynab hosts a girls' night in, with her brother Ali in attendance. What ensues: a revelation, a confrontation, and the beginning of an investigation.

“Don’t you just love girls’ nights in? We should do this more often.”

At the predictable sound of a masculine grumble, a fond smile appears on Zaynab’s face. The motion causes her papaya and honey face mask to crack and tingle on her skin.

“I’m not a girl, Zaynab,” Ali murmurs, though his protest is rather undercut by the relaxed, sleepy tone of his voice.

“As my baby brother, you might as well be.” Zaynab giggles at Ali’s disgruntled cough. “Just lie back and enjoy the music. Do you recognize it?”

As they listen to the serene strumming of guitar and kora strings, Ali scoffs. “Of course I recognize it. It’s not like we listened to anything else but Ali Farka Touré, growing up.”

“He’s your namesake, you know.”

“No, he isn’t. I was named after Zaydi al Qahtani. Our ancestor?”

“Yes, but you were also named after Ali Farka Touré. Why do you think your name has two parts? It was a compromise between Abba and Amma, who wanted to name you after her favorite musician. Ask her yourself.”

Ali is silent for a long while, surely questioning everything he thought he knew about the origins of his name. Zaynab smiles to herself. _Oh, little brother. You are really too easy to fool._

Finally, Ali mumbles, “I would ask her, but she’s still upset with me over the Lubayd debacle.”

Nahri, Aqisa, and Zaynab all burst out laughing at the mention of Lubayd’s now-infamous comedy set. Ali just sighs.

“He could have at least warned me he was going to tell that story with my mother present.”

Aqisa chimes in: “Good thing he didn’t.”

“How’s that?” Ali gripes.

“Well, it was a lot funnier this way. For the rest of us.” Aqisa laughs again. Zaynab loves Aqisa’s hoarse, husky guffaws, so different from her own honeyed giggles. _We fit together perfectly. Where she is sturdy, I am pliant. Where she is wild, I am gentle. I never knew I needed someone like her to balance me out. We don’t complete each other, we just…make each other better._

Zaynab’s musings are interrupted by Nahri’s question: “Did Lubayd leave already?”

“Yes,” Ali says. “He’s already had a few shows in Agnivansha. I don’t know how he does it. He’s tireless!”

“Did he tell you he ran into Bushra back in Bir Nabat?” Aqisa asks, altogether too casually.

 _Bushra?! Oh, hell no._ Zaynab sits up abruptly, her peace thoroughly disturbed.

“Y-yes,” Ali stammers. “Of course he told me.”

“I hope he told her where to shove it,” Zaynab bites out. “How dare that bitch show her face after what she did to Ali? Has she no shame at all?”

Wincing, Ali says soothingly, “Ukhti, it was a long time ago. It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not okay!” Zaynab can feel the blood rushing to her head. “She didn’t even have the decency to let you know before the wedding. Who does that? Why would she—”

A horrified thought suddenly crosses her mind, and she gasps.

“You aren’t thinking of giving her another chance, are you? Akhi, you can’t! You deserve so much better. You deserve to be with someone who really loves you, who would never give you up. You can’t possibly be considering—”

“I’m _not_ considering it. It’s in the past now.” Ali levels a stern look at Zaynab, before moving to sit beside her and taking her hands in his. “I know you want to protect me, but I promise—I’m really okay.”

Zaynab takes a deep breath to calm herself. “You know all I want is for you to be happy, don’t you?”

“I know.” Ali smiles at her. The green goop on his dark face makes for a ridiculous sight, and Zaynab laughs, breaking the tension in the room.

As Aqisa stands up and stretches her sinewed arms, Zaynab catches her eye, wondering what exactly she was trying to pull by bringing up Bushra—the mention of whom never fails to ruin Zaynab’s mood. Aqisa shrugs and smirks back with a galling lack of remorse. The lean muscles in her arms flex as she continues to stretch them over her head. Zaynab narrows her eyes at the display. _Why does she have to look so sexy when I’m supposed to be mad at her? It’s unfair._

Aqisa switches her gaze to Nahri, whose face is lit up with mirth as she teases Ali over his new look. “Say, Nahri. Do you know about the Bushra saga?” The strangely laidback tone of Aqisa’s voice leaves Zaynab even more confused. _What is she up to?_

Nahri nods, looking surprised to be addressed. She shares a meaningful glance with Ali, who nods back at her reassuringly.

Nahri’s face softens. “Yes, Ali told me all about it.” With her eyes still locked on his, she moves even closer to Ali. “But it sounds like it all worked out for the best, for both of them.” Nahri smiles at him so tenderly, Zaynab feels almost uncomfortable—like she’s intruding on a private moment.

When Ali returns her smile, glowing with the same tenderness, Zaynab is bowled over. _I’ve never seen him look so…smitten before._

Her gaze slides to Aqisa, who is grinning madly. Aqisa raises her eyebrows, cool as ever, and tilts her head toward Nahri and Ali, still smiling at each other like lovesick fools.

Zaynab quirks an eyebrow. _So that’s how it is._ She glides over to Aqisa’s side, and whispers, “You could have let me in on the plan earlier.”

“Princess, please…” Aqisa drawls. “You think you could have given Ali that little speech about Bushra if you knew?”

“Unbelievable,” Zaynab huffs, incredulous. "Since when did you become such a matchmaker, anyway?”

Aqisa rolls her eyes. “Believe me, I would love to stay out of it. But Lubayd convinced me, as always. The stupid fool.” Zaynab smiles at the gruff affection in Aqisa’s voice.

“Aww, babe, do you miss your best buddy?” Zaynab teases in a mock baby voice. “Your bestest _fwiend_?”

Aqisa scowls at her, unimpressed. “I do not sound like that.”

Zaynab’s voice goes even higher. “Your bff 4 lyfe? Your brotha from anotha motha? Your—”

She yelps as Aqisa clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Now, Princess. If you keep going, I’ll have to punish you.” Aqisa’s voice drops into a husky undertone. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

 _I’m sure I would._ Zaynab opens her mouth to lick up Aqisa’s palm, kissing it wetly. Aqisa’s eyes darken with promise, while her hand tightens over Zaynab’s mouth.

The sudden blare of Ali’s ringtone brings her back to reality. Aqisa lets go of Zaynab, and both of them step back, turning to face the other two in the room.

Ali answers the phone, while Nahri looks at them a little too knowingly. Zaynab blows out an irritated breath, and locks eyes with Aqisa for one heady moment: _We will finish this later._ Aqisa’s eyes flash: _Yes, we will._

Ali ends the call and moves toward the door. “The food is here. I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t get lost!” Zaynab calls after him.

“I’m just going downstairs.” Ali rolls his eyes. “Give me _some_ credit, ukhti.”

Zaynab smiles as the door closes behind him. She turns back to see Nahri shaking her head. “Ali’s not a child anymore. I wonder if you know that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you hiding your relationship from him.” Nahri looks meaningfully between Zaynab and Aqisa, who bristles, letting out a hiss.

“You don’t even know us,” Zaynab scoffs. “Please, spare us the lecture.”

“I know Ali, and I know he would be crushed to find out how little you trust him.” Zaynab flinches, and Nahri zeroes in on the movement. “Do you think he wouldn’t support you? He loves you. He deserves to know—”

“What about your brother?” Aqisa asks, in a deadly voice. “You’re helping him hide _his_ secret relationship from Ali.”

Nahri rears back. “That’s different.”

“No, it’s exactly the same,” Aqisa shoots back. “So you should shut your mouth and stop meddling in places where you don’t belong.”

Nahri’s black eyes spark with indignation. “But it’s fine for _you_ to meddle in Ali’s love life? Why did you bring up Bushra? Just to hurt him? You have some nerve—” Her mouth snaps shut when the door opens and Ali steps inside.

Nahri and Aqisa glower at each other with barely concealed disdain. Oblivious, as always, to the tension in the room, Ali puts down the bags of food.

Scratching at his beard, he looks at the three women. “Um…ladies? The food is here.”

Nahri and Aqisa, still glaring at each other, don’t even bother to acknowledge him. Ali looks confused, and a little bit hurt.

Zaynab decides it’s time to intervene. “Thank you, akhi.” She grabs Aqisa’s arm and ushers her toward one of the bathrooms. “Why don’t you wash all that gunk off your face?” she suggests in Ali’s direction. “Then we can dig in properly! Nahri, you too.”

***

Later, after a sumptuous Ntaran dinner, they pair off to give each other massages. Zaynab notes with approval that Nahri offers to give Ali a massage right away—though that may also be because she’s still annoyed at her and Aqisa. _Stubborn girl. Figures that’s Ali’s type._

Whatever the reason, Zaynab is glad to be on the receiving end of one of Aqisa’s infamous massages. Her strong hands knead out every knot in Zaynab’s back, inducing a strange mixture of pain and bliss. Zaynab stifles a moan as one particularly nasty knot in her upper back gets released.

Aqisa chuckles. “Why are you carrying so much tension, Princess? You need to stretch more. I keep telling you, you should join me when I work out.”

“And I keep telling you, never again.” Zaynab shudders. “The last time you convinced me to join you, I couldn’t lift my arms for three straight days afterward. Three straight days!”

“Oh, come on. That was a learning experience. Next time, I’ll go easier on you.” Aqisa attacks another knot with brutal efficiency, and Zaynab lets out a wounded hiss.

“Is that what you call going easy on me?!”

The low rumble of Aqisa’s laugh sends a pleasant hum through Zaynab’s muscles. “It’s for your own good, Princess.”

Suddenly, a loud groan comes from her little brother. Zaynab opens her eyes, only to see Ali’s long frame folded up on the floor between Nahri’s legs, with a mortified expression on his face.

“Sorry, I just—ohhh, that’s—ahhh—”

Ali’s voice dissolves into a series of incomprehensible moans, and he leans forward, squirming away from Nahri’s relentless fingers. Nahri pulls him back by the shoulder, holding him in place, and says, “Hold still, I’m almost done. Just…a little bit…more…” Nahri’s face is screwed up in concentration as she digs her elbow into Ali’s back.

He lets out a rough, strangled sound of protest, then melts sideways into Nahri’s lap when she finally lets him go. She laughs, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. “Don’t be a baby—it wasn’t that bad!”

Ali’s head rests on her thigh as he struggles to catch his breath. “You are a blessing,” he wheezes. “I don’t think my muscles have ever felt this relaxed.”

“Well, clearly I need to give you massages more often.” A faint blush spreads over Nahri’s cheeks.

“I would love that,” Ali says brightly. “But you don’t have to—I know how busy you are.”

“I want to,” Nahri murmurs. “Besides, it’s good practice.” She traces the muscles on Ali’s shoulder, down his arm. “This is the trapezius…This is the deltoid…This is the bicep…”

Zaynab _definitely_ notices how Nahri’s hand lingers on his arm before it drops away, her blush growing deeper.

Aqisa leans forward to whisper in her ear: “I don’t like her much, but they’re good together.”

Zaynab smiles at the sight of Ali looking so at peace. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?” She turns to face Aqisa, her smile turning mischievous. “But what kind of big sis would I be if I didn’t do my due diligence? I think it’s time for me to conduct some research of my own, to see if she really deserves my baby brother.”

The left side of Aqisa’s mouth curls up into a lopsided smirk. “I love when you get all boardroom bitch on me. Save that energy for later.” Her eyes flick down to Zaynab’s lips.

With a pang, Zaynab longs to pull Aqisa to her in an open kiss. _Maybe Nahri’s right. Maybe it’s time to let the secret out._ She glances at Ali, now sitting up and covering his face in embarrassment. _Or maybe we’ll let him be innocent a little longer. Just a little longer._

(Oh, Zaynab…I wonder what other secrets you’ll dig up in the course of your research? Nothing too important, surely?

Tune in next time to find out!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The music that was mentioned:  
> ["Ali & Toumani," by Ali Farka Touré & Toumani Diabaté](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BQCKm8lBTI4)

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a fluffy slice-of-life modern AU starring the Nahid and Qahtani siblings. Yeah...best laid plans and all. There's plot now!


End file.
